“Thanks.” He wrinkled his nose. “I think I prefer the diner near the police station.”
I chuckled. “I won’t tell Mrs. Wilson you said that.”
He lowered himself onto the bench. “I finally got word from the owner of the pawnshop. He says he can’t be certain if the sketch is the same girl who came in with the jewelry.”
The bite of ham sandwich hit my stomach like a rock. “Now what?”
I despised the fact that my voice quivered. Over and over I had practiced what I would do if the detective returned with such a response. My plan had been to appear either brave or completely nonchalant. I’d done neither.
“I know you are disappointed with the news. So was I. I’d hoped to cross your name from my list of suspects.”
He had a list? It was a relief to know I wasn’t the only person he’d been investigating. “The shop owner took a great deal of time to respond. Did he say why?”
The detective shook his head. “No, but he is passing through Collinsford at the end of the week on his way to visit a relative. He offered to stop at the police station and speak with me—and you.”
“Me?” Was this a scheme to ensnare me? I didn’t know what to think. One minute I thought Detective Lawton supposed me innocent. The next I thought he believed me guilty and hoped to see me in jail. My mind whirled with possibilities as I awaited his response.
“Yes. He believes if he can see you in person, it will be easier to rule you out as the woman who pawned the jewelry.”
Rule me out? Had the shop owner said he wanted to disqualify me as a suspect, or was it the opposite? There was no need to ask. I’d already learned the detective divulged only what he wanted me to know— nothing more and nothing less.
“You don’t object, do you?” His brow furrowed. My hesitation seemed to place him on the alert. “If you’re concerned about missing work, I’ll schedule our meeting during the evening hours.”
“After work would be best.” I stared at the ham sandwich, my appetite gone after only one bite. Placing the sandwich on my napkin, I carefully surrounded the uneaten remnants between the folds. Mrs. Wilson would scold when she discovered how little I’d eaten. No doubt she’d insist upon feeling my forehead and sending me to bed. At the moment, the woman’s tender care would be a welcome respite from the detective and his determined stance.
Detective Lawton pushed up from the bench and nodded toward my lunch. “You better hurry and eat or you’ll be mighty hungry before day’s end.” He plopped his straw hat atop his bald head and glanced toward the carousel factory. “I’ll send a message about our meeting once Mr. Charleston arrives.”
“Mr. Charleston is the shop owner?”
“That’s right. Charleston and Sons.” He fixed his gaze on me. Maybe he expected some sign of recognition when he uttered the name. If so, he’d been disappointed. I’d never heard of Mr. Charleston, or his sons, or their pawnshop. And I’d certainly never set foot in Cincinnati. At least this meeting should remove my name from Detective Lawton’s list. But instead of elation that I would soon be vindicated, I trudged back to the factory feeling a sense of defeat. Each step in this process seemed to lead to another. Would it never end?
CHAPTER
29
When I stepped outside the factory Friday afternoon, Detective Lawton was waiting across the street. He waved me forward, and I heaved a sigh of relief, thankful that Josef wasn’t by my side. I’d been disgruntled earlier in the afternoon when he’d mentioned remaining late to finish his paper work. Now I was grateful, for the detective’s presence wouldn’t require an explanation.
After glancing over my shoulder to make certain Josef hadn’t wandered to the door in order to bid me farewell, I darted between two carriages and across the street. Somehow I managed to remain upright while skidding to a rather unladylike halt in front of the detective. “Mr. Charleston has arrived?” Clutching one hand to my bodice, I panted for breath.
He tipped his straw hat and grinned. “That was quite a run. If I had to give chase, I believe you could lose me.”
“I do hope that won’t be necessary,” I said.
A hint of admiration shone in his eyes. “Agreed. Mr. Charleston is waiting for us at the police station. Are you free to come with me right now?”
It seemed all was working out. Mrs. Wilson and Mr. Lundgren were to join friends for supper, and Josef and I had agreed we would fend for ourselves this evening. I murmured my agreement, and the detective immediately hailed a carriage. We made the journey mostly in silence, although the detective did mention the dry weather and the need for rain several times. I didn’t know if the silence bothered him, or if he was genuinely worried about his wife’s failing crop of garden vegetables. I tended to think it was the latter, since he peered heavenward when we arrived at the station and said, “Our green beans could sure use some rain.”
“Is that a prayer or a comment?” I asked as he assisted me down from the carriage.
“A little of both, but I think the good Lord already knows we need the rain,” he said with a grin. He lightly grasped my elbow and guided me toward the entrance we’d used on my previous visit. “Let’s use the side door.”
Within minutes we were in the same room where my portrait had been sketched. Mr. Charleston wasn’t at all what I’d expected. I had envisioned a sleazy sort of man with greasy hair, beady eyes, and disheveled clothing. Instead, I was introduced to a refined gentleman who could rival any of Mr. Galloway’s associates. Mr. Charleston possessed a commanding presence that seemed to fill the small room.
He muffled a faint chuckle as we were introduced. “You were expecting someone less respectable?”
I didn’t know if he was attempting to trick me into admitting I’d previously seen him, but perhaps he had truly observed my surprise. The fact that he’d so easily detected my inner thoughts both embarrassed and disturbed me. There was no use denying the obvious. I gave a firm nod.
He squinted his eyes and drew a circle in the air with his index finger. “Please turn for me,” he said. “Slowly.” Mr. Charleston made it clear that he wasn’t afraid to take command. And it seemed the detective had acquiesced power to the shop owner. Once I’d completed my pirouette, Mr. Charleston said, “Please step to the other side of the room.” I edged around the table and faced him. “No. Turn sideways.” I did as he commanded while still attempting to see if he was sending signals to the detective. He sighed and dropped into one of the chairs. “I don’t think this is the woman, but I can’t be absolutely certain until I hear her speak.”
The detective dipped forward and rested his palms on the table. “Say something for the man, Miss Brouwer.”
I arched my brows. What did one say to a man attempting to identify you as a criminal? I didn’t wonder for long.
Mr. Charleston once again took command. “I’d like you to ask me if I’d be interested in purchasing a valuable necklace.”
The detective signaled for me to comply.
“Would you be interested in purchasing a valuable necklace?” I said as naturally as possible.
“No.” He shook his head. “Not her. The woman I dealt with had a deep, raspy voice with a southern accent.”
The detective slapped his palm on the table. I don’t know who was more startled: Mr. Charleston or me. “I wish you would have mentioned her voice earlier. I could have confirmed that Miss Brouwer doesn’t have a southern accent or a deep voice.”
The shop owner shrugged. “Still, it’s probably better to verify in person, don’t you think? Criminals are always disguising themselves in various ways—or so I’ve been told.”
The detective merely grunted.
Mr. Charleston didn’t appear to notice the detective’s irritation. He tapped his fingertip on the table. “Yes. She had a very distinctive voice. I made note of it both times she came into the shop.”
The detective jumped to attention. “Both times? The woman was in your store more than once?”
“I
thought I mentioned that to you when I wrote that I would be passing through Collinsford. I must have forgotten that, as well.” His eyebrows matted into knotted ripples. “The woman returned with two lovely paintings and asked if I could find them a good home in another country.” He grinned. “Her way of advising me the paintings might be stolen.”
The detective directed a wary look at me. “And you bought them anyway?”
Mr. Charleston edged his finger beneath his collar. “I deal in fine art and jewelry. I am one of few brokers in the state who can properly value such items. Most of my inventory comes from wealthy people who have fallen upon hard times.”
“Still, she told you—”
“Not outright,” Mr. Charleston replied. “People come to me because I understand the value of their items, and I’m willing to pay them more. My shop bears a fine reputation. You’d be surprised at the number of wealthy men who visit my business. When an item is brought to me, I don’t question the ownership. That’s not a requirement of my business.”
The detective didn’t appear impressed with Mr. Charleston’s defense, but he didn’t argue, either. If he was going to gather further information, he’d need Mr. Charleston’s cooperation. “So this woman came in and asked you to find a home for the paintings. I believe you said two paintings. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
Unable to squelch my excitement, I leaned across the table. “Were they signed?”
“Yes. I’d become aware of this artist only recently. Leland Brou—” His jaw went slack. He looked at the detective and then at me. “Your name is Brouwer, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Yes. And I hope you have the two paintings of mine that were stolen from the Collinsford Carousel Factory.”
Mr. Charleston listened intently while the detective explained the circumstances surrounding the theft. When the detective had finished, Mr. Charleston rubbed his jaw. “So that young lady stole both the jewelry and the paintings. And she closely resembles Miss Brouwer? Am I understanding this correctly?”
“I’m not certain she’s the actual thief,” the detective said. “She may be an accomplice selected merely because she closely resembles Miss Brouwer.”
“This thief had a well-thought-out plan,” Mr. Charleston said. “Not many men would contemplate such an idea.”
The detective curled his lips in disgust. “If criminals would use their time and energy for good, this would be a much better world.”
Mr. Charleston removed his pocket watch and snapped open the lid. “I must soon be on my way, Detective. About the paintings . . .” He looked in my direction.
“I have no money to reimburse you,” I said.
Mr. Charleston chuckled. “I believe the detective will inform you that I am not entitled to reimbursement for stolen property.” He stood and turned toward the door. “Besides, I had not actually purchased them. I was to receive a percentage of the sale price once I located a buyer and settled on a price. Now I must inform my prospect that our arrangement must be canceled.”
I could barely believe my ears. “You had a buyer?”
“In London. He was most eager. If you are interested in selling them . . .”
I shook my head. “No, but if you could tell me their value, I would be most appreciative.”
Glancing at the table, he returned and picked up a pencil. After scribbling on a sheet of paper, he folded it in half and shoved it toward me. “This bears my signature and the estimated value of the paintings. If you decide to sell, you should show this to the art dealer. Don’t sell for any less.”
I unfolded the page and gasped when I saw the figure. “This can’t possibly be correct, can it?”
“Trust me, Miss Brouwer, it is correct. I have investigated and know the worth of those paintings.” He extended his arm and shook hands with the detective. “Keep me advised, and I will do all in my power to see that the thief and his accomplice are punished.”
The detective didn’t release Mr. Charleston’s hand. “If I can detain you for only a little longer, I believe I may have a plan that will help accomplish that purpose.”
“Talk quickly. I don’t want to miss my train.”
Mr. Charleston and I listened while the detective quickly detailed his plan. When he’d finished, he said, “All we need to do is set a date.”
“I’ll return to Cincinnati the third of September. Any time after that would be fine with me.” Mr. Charleston was reaching for his hat.
The detective arched his brows. “Miss Brouwer?”
“I’ll speak to Josef and make arrangements to be away from work once you tell me the date.”
The detective hesitated for only a moment. “We can be at the shop on Saturday, the sixth of September. That way you won’t be required to miss too much work, Miss Brouwer. I’ll try to arrange for a train late Friday afternoon. With any luck, we can return Saturday afternoon.” Detective Lawton agreed to write out the details and mail them to Mr. Charleston. The three of us walked out the side door, and Detective Lawton hailed a carriage.
“To the train station,” Mr. Charleston called to the driver as he tossed his bag inside. He turned toward me. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Brouwer.” Giving the detective a mock salute, he said, “I look forward to our future meeting in Cincinnati.”
Once Mr. Charleston was on his way, I tapped Detective Lawton on the arm. “Does this mean you will now remove me from your list of suspects?”
He grinned. “Indeed it does, Miss Brouwer. And I extend my apologies for any difficulty this investigation has caused for you. Nothing personal was intended. I was merely doing my job.”
Now that I no longer had to worry about going to jail, it was easy to accept the detective’s apology. After agreeing on our arrangements, he waved for a carriage. “You sure you don’t want me to come to the factory and explain to your employer?”
I shook my head. “There won’t be any problem. I’ll speak to Mr. Kaestner myself.”
Settling against the warm leather carriage seat, I closed my eyes. So much had occurred, it was difficult to digest the complete depth of it all. When my stomach growled, I realized it was nearly eight o’clock and I hadn’t yet eaten supper. If Josef was at the boardinghouse, I wanted to speak to him and clear the air. Keeping secrets and telling half-truths had proved more difficult than I’d anticipated.
The semidarkness provided a hazy shroud as I approached the boardinghouse. Someone said my name, and a strangled scream escaped my lips. I hadn’t seen Josef sitting on the front porch.
He jumped to his feet. “I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.” With three long strides, he was at my side to offer comfort. Leading me to one of the chairs on the porch, Josef patiently waited until I regained my composure.
“I have so much to tell you,” I said. He offered an encouraging smile and proved to be most understanding when I explained the circumstances surrounding the theft of Mrs. Galloway’s jewelry—and the fact that I’d been the primary suspect. But it was the news of my missing paintings that particularly aroused his interest. He listened intently to that portion of my recital. However, he wasn’t quite as tolerant when he heard of Augusta’s condemning behavior or the fact that the detective wanted me to accompany him to Cincinnati.
“A lot you have told me this evening.”
“Yes, and that’s not even the most important part.”
He stared at me as though he didn’t know if he was up to hearing anything more. “There is something else?”
“Yes. While I was riding home in the carriage, I realized that God had answered my prayer.” I tapped my fingertips against my chest. “Me. Can you believe it? God truly listened when I prayed. He saved me from a jail cell. I am so thankful I didn’t have to suffer like Paul or Daniel. It’s amazing. God answered my prayer in the way that I asked.” The words gushed from my lips uninhibited.
“You had faith,” Josef said.
His response settled in my heart like a cold stone. How I
wished I could agree with his statement, but in truth my faith had been nearly nonexistent. I hadn’t expected God to act. In fact, I’d expected the opposite. “My faith wasn’t strong at all. I think it’s probably because God knows I couldn’t withstand such punishment. I’m not nearly strong enough to be a martyr.”
“Maybe it’s true that you are not strong enough for living in a jail, but you have changed. Your faith in God, it has increased since first you came to Collinsford. And God, He knows how much your heart has changed, too. Is gut God agrees you should be free. I am pleased all is settled.” He exhaled deeply and leaned back in his chair.
Only the sound of chirping crickets and the rustling of a light breeze through the tree branches interrupted the quietude. Josef must not have understood all I had told him. I shifted forward on the chair. “All is not yet settled, Josef. Remember, I must go to Cincinnati.”
When he bobbed his head, several strands of hair fell across his forehead. Brushing them aside, he said, “Ja. And I am thinking such a journey might be dangerous. I do not know why the detective cannot go by himself to apprehend this thief. This is his job. Why must you be there?”
“I’m not supposed to discuss any details. I’ve already told you more than I should have.” I knew Josef wasn’t pleased with my response, but he finally agreed that I could leave work early on the appointed Friday. He stood and paced back and forth in front of my chair. “I hope I will not regret my decision.”
I grasped his hand and pulled him to a halt in front of me. “You won’t. I promise. Thank you, Josef.”
“If something should happen to you . . .” He took my other hand and helped me to my feet. Cupping my chin in his palm, he stared deep into my eyes. “I could not bear to lose you, Carrie.” Lowering his head, he covered my lips with a gentle kiss.
I melted against his broad chest, enjoying the warmth of his embrace and the strength of his arms encircling me. Had I ever experienced such love and protection as I felt with this man? Maybe as a little girl when I had walked hand in hand with my mother or father. But since that time I’d buried any longing for love and convinced myself I would live a life without strings or attachments. Now it seemed Josef had changed those ideas. Now I wanted to shed the life of a solitary soul; now I wanted to share my life with another—I wanted to share my life with Josef. Tears pooled in my eyes and trickled down my cheeks.
The Carousel Painter Page 29